


Cigarette Daydreams

by imaginedfables



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Kate is done with the Geckos, Richie just wants an horchata, Santanico is precious, Seth wants to fight everybody, bartender!AU, girls gotta stick together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedfables/pseuds/imaginedfables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’ve been showing up at the bar on random nights for the past three weeks. </p><p>It’s pretty hard to miss them, and even if she wanted to turn a blind eye to the American brothers, their loud mouths (Seth) and the fist fights they (again, Seth) tend to start would give their presence away in a heartbeat. </p><p>(And, no, Richie, she doesn’t have any horchata.)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so sweet, with a mean streak

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephants.  
> Just something light and fun that shouldn't be too long.

They’ve been showing up at the bar on random nights for the past three weeks.

It’s pretty hard to miss them, and even if she wanted to turn a blind eye to the American brothers, their loud mouths (Seth) and the fist fights they (again, Seth) tend to start would give their presence away in a heartbeat.

(And, no, Richie, she doesn’t have any _horchata_.)

…

It’s odd, really, because this has to be the most obnoxiously blatant stripper bar in all of Mexico and the Americas (Jesus Christ, it’s called the _Titty Twister_ and there used to be an asshole doorman yelling about the different _flavors_ they’ve got – real classy, Carlos). Every man who steps inside is usually looking to get drunk and/or have sex and as long as they’re not complete assholes and they show the girls the respect that every woman deserves, most will leave satisfied and a couple hundred bucks shorter.

And yet, while the brothers will sometimes ogle the dancers and drink until they’re a tequila shot away from landing in the hospital to get their stomachs pumped, neither one has ever even tried to take a girl to one of the backrooms.

Kate’s heard the chatter, and she knows that there’s more than a few who were interested: it’s not every day that potential clients walk in with both good looks _and_ good hygiene. There’d only been one girl, way back on the very first night they showed up, but Richie had immediately sent her away the moment Kate accidently walked into them while looking for somebody to help her get a crate of vodka off from the top shelf.

The other girls tease her for it: claim that her pretty eyes and innocent face has the brothers twisted and hooked where their sultry looks have failed. They say she’s got the makings of a _Lolita_ and should take advantage of it.

(The thing is, Kate read that book when she was seventeen and going through a _rebellious_ phase. She saw beneath the sexual text everyone seems to get so wrapped up on and understood Nabokov was writing about delusion and coercion; cruelty and lies and an obsession so toxic that a girl was stripped of her humanity to satisfy a fantasy.)

So, no; she’s not planning on pretending to be a vixen any time soon.

Plus, the Geckos, they’re…confusing, that’s what they are.

Richie makes her feel odd; like he can look at her through narrow eyes and the thick sheet of his glasses and stare straight into her soul. And maybe it’s because she can sort of do the same for him, (can take a look at the arrogance hiding beneath the intelligence in his eyes and know that his heart is hurting and his soul’s been tortured and he’s seconds away from falling apart), but he takes a liking to her that’s a little bit too flirtatious and intimate to be considered strictly platonic.

He scares the hell out of her.

…

Seth is, well, she doesn’t know _what_ he is.

Except, you know, an asshole.

He’s taken it upon himself to find different ways to crawl under her skin. Kate doesn’t know why he seems to be so fascinated with her; so intent on forming a mediocre bond while trying to get her to open up and tell him all her deepest sins and secrets. He makes himself at home on the bar’s corner stool, ordering drink after drink and regaling her with stories about his good ol’ Uncle Eddie and past glory days he wishes he could forget.

He calls her _Sweetheart_ , he calls her _Miley_ , but his absolute favorite petname is _Princess._ It doesn’t matter that she’s less than a month away from turning twenty with a full time job that involves her putting up with drunks (in _two_ languages, mind you) on a nightly basis and enough angst to fill a poetry club: he still looks and treats her like a little kid out past her bedtime. He’d even tried, once, on the day of their third meeting and on a whim that’d hit too close to home, calling her _Katie_ - _Cakes_.

She’d punched him so hard in the face that the next time he’d come in his lip was busted and there was a thin scab forming that must have burnt like hell every time he took a sip of his drink.

So, yes, he’s always trying to push her buttons, but he’s also weirdly _protective_ of her.

He sits on his stool _(no, Seth, I will not write your name on it)_ and he broods and he drinks and he’s the first one to jump in and pick a fight when a jerk doesn’t take the hint that just because she works the bar it doesn’t mean she’s about to jump on a table and pull her top off. Seth’s broken three different guy’s nose for her on four different occasions and as much as she hates the blatant show of machoism, (and, please, she can take care of herself and if she ever couldn’t, well, that’s why Santanico has four beefed-up securities ready to throw out anybody at the snap of her fingers. _Hey, there, Razor Charlie! Make sure to pass by for your vegan cupcakes tomorrow morning!)_      

Yet, he’s never even tried to hit on her.

It’s like he looks at her and sees some sort of surrogate little sister that must be protected while she’s out playing and pretending with the big kids. He looks at her like she’s a joke he’s already figured out and _fuck you, Seth Gecko_ , because it took her too damn long to build up a life with an ounce of normalcy and control and she’ll be damned if she lets him and his wiseass comments tear it all apart.

Jesus, she can’t wait for both of them to leave town

…

_She’s never been kissed this way._

_His lips are rough, chapped from the heat and tasting of cheap tequila and peppermint. His hands grip onto her hips and she’s sure come morning there’ll be bruises matching his fingertips. His scruff scratches against her cheeks and she feels a shiver run straight down her spine and all the way to her toes when he trails his mouth along her throat._

_This isn’t her first kiss, a peck more than anything, when she was fourteen. This isn’t Kyle and his sloppy French kiss behind the choir room. This isn’t a boy being sweet and kind and innocent._

_This is a kiss from a man who’s experienced and who knows what he wants and will take it without qualms._

_He leaves her breathless and panting and lightheaded._

_Her fingers dig into his scalp and his hair is silk between them and she moans low and heady when he presses her against the wall and his hips find their way home between her own. He’s thick and he’s hard and she can hear and feel his need when he grunts against her ear before nibbling on the lobe._

_She’s weightless and heavy; floating and anchored; trapped and free and freezing and hot and every other contradiction her mind is too fogged up to think about right now. All her planning and her meticulous strategizing has been drowned by his raw impulses and he’s a live wire threatening to set her on fire. It enthralls her just a smidge more than it terrifies her._

_He has absolute control._

_“Tell me you want this,” he demands, shifting his hands so they rest on her ass for just a moment before they pull her tighter to him. “Say it.”_

_“I want this,” she breathes out, clutching onto his shirt and sliding her hands underneath in search of the heat of his solid body, soothing along the dips and curves of his toned abdomen. And then, because she feels it deep down to her bones, she whispers, “I need you.”_

_It must be what he wanted to hear because his hands are moving and they’re experts with the button of her jeans and pulling down the zipper and Kate feels like she might explode because his hand is slipping underneath the waistline of her panties and his fingers are strong and calloused between her legs before trailing further and –_

And then she wakes up in her room, alone and safe and with the sun’s rays being softly filtered through the thick royal blue curtains she’d picked out a couple months ago. Her heart is beating loud and fast inside her chest and her hair is matted across her forehead but she’s fully clothed and her door is locked and the quietness reminds her to take a deep breath and count back from ten.

She’s sweaty and gross and there’s an uncomfortable ache pulsing between her legs that demands attention and what the fuck is wrong with her?

Because, _no_.

No. No. No.

Not ever, and definitely not with _him_.

She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to get up and run away and not come back until he’s far and gone and _Christ_ , she is _not_ the type of girl that has those kinds of dreams about men she barely knows. She is sensible and rational and her mother would be turning in her grave if she knew the dilemma her only daughter was so recklessly dangling herself towards.

She might be young and inexperienced (and lonely, darling, don’t you lie there and try to pretend like you don’t miss having someone who holds your hand and kisses your cheek and reminds you that you’re beautiful and amazing) but she is not naïve or stupid or lovelorn.

Kate will not be another story for _Seth Gecko_ , of all the fucking people in the world, to reminisce about when he’s drunk in a bar in the middle of nowhere.

She refuses to.

…

Santanico gets home after nearly a month of meetings throughout southern Mexico with Carlos.

“Cuentame, querida,” she prompts her, taking off her fluffy pink slippers and stretching her legs out on the comfy sofa. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun and neither has any make-up on and it’s sometimes hard to correlate this girl with the woman who dances at night and will crush a man’s heart with the heel of her leather boots and never look back (seriously, Beyonce has _nothing_ on Santanico Pandemonium). They’ve both got steaming cups of hot chocolate cuddled on their palms and the fact that it’s ninety-seven degrees outside has absolutely no bearing. “What has you pouting?”

It should not take that much effort to hold in her sigh.

They’re currently sitting in Santanico’s living room, wearing ugly plaid pajamas that feel like Heaven on Earth while the A.C. gets a workout and keeps the home at about sixty-five degrees at all times. They’ve got _pan dulce_ and muffins and ridiculous telenovelas to keep them stuffed and entertained. There are a couple of bags filled with trinkets the older girl picked up for Kate during her travels that she’s been too lazy to drag over to her room.

As far as things go, Kate is fully aware that she’s been _lucky_.

Lucky, but not blessed.

She stopped counting on God’s Grace long ago: after her mother’s car flipped over and her daddy drowned his sorrows in a bottle and her brother allowed a man filled with greed and self-hatred to hone his anger into pure violence.

(That’s the one thing Tani has gotten wrong: Kate _can_ hate Carlos more than he hates himself.)

They’d been stranded on a tiny town inside the Mexican border, living on the last few dollars left in her father’s bank account. It’d seemed like such a solid plan; Scott had been so excited to get a fresh start away from everything and everyone and the fact that she’d just turned eighteen and he wasn’t even seventeen yet hadn’t mattered. She hadn’t seen that much hope on her brother’s face in so long and she’d have done anything in the world to keep it there and nourish it until they were both happy again.

Reality set in pretty quickly.

And, damn it all, they were just _kids_.

Children who’d been sheltered and protected and loved their entire lives and who had absolutely no clue what the world was really like.

Santanico showing up when she did had been the best thing that could have happened to them. She’d let them into her home and life and had done her best to help them as much as she could when there was nothing for her to gain besides two orphans who were bruised and bloody and messed up. Kate _loved_ her; sometimes like a sister and sometimes like a mother but always pure and honest and unconditional.

And, still, she’s been living here for almost two years now and she still can’t find it in herself to call it _home_.

“It’s nothing,” Kate dismisses quickly, taking a bite of her chocolate-chip muffin and doing her best to avoid the piercing eyes staring right at her. “Really!”

“Oh, si,” the other woman scoffs, arching a perfectly coifed eyebrow and rolling her eyes in the same way her mother used to when she knew she was telling a lie. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with the brothers that have been hanging around the bar.”

Kate almost chokes on her hot chocolate and Santanico lets out a knowing and exasperated sigh.

“Katie,” she starts, grabbing ahold of her hand and giving it a solidary squeeze before leaning back to express her seriousness. “Los Hermanos Gecko, they are not the kind of men a girl should get involved with; here one day and gone the next. As soon as their deal with Carlos is finished they’ll leave and we will never see them again.”

“I’m not interested in _him_ ,” she tries to defend herself, and the slip of her tongue gives Kate away because, really, she should know better than to try and convince a woman who’s taken it upon herself to guide her (god, she’d been so naïve before they’d met) of something she’s still living in denial with.

“Los chicos malos no hacen mas que romper corazones,” she reminds her, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. “Do not let a pretty face steal away your happiness.”

A wave of sadness flashes across Santanico face: the kind that comes with experience and heartbreak that leaves you reeling and broken and takes a little piece of your innocence when it fades away. You move on and you learn from your mistakes but the scar remains and it stings when it’s cold and you don’t ever forget. Kate has her fair share of those, and she’s not looking to add any more to her collection.

And, well, that’s the end of that conversation.

…


	2. remember when the boys were all electric?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Fluorescent Adolescent by Arctic Monkeys.

They’re back the next night.

For the first time since they’d walked into the bar, both are deadly serious.

Richie sits down in a center table and Seth takes his place on the corner stool he’s become so intimately acquainted with, ordering a bottle of tequila and clutching onto his glass like it promises all the answers for the salvation of his soul. He can deny it all he wants, but Kate can tell that he still believes in God and Heaven regardless of how much he wishes he could disregard them as just words in an old book that carried no worth.

She’s met a lot of people; good and bad and worse and everything in between, but Kate had never met a person so wholly convinced in the damnation of his own soul: so determined to live out his life in a haze of glory to justify the hell that was waiting for him the moment his heart stopped beating.

She wonders what would happen if she told him about her past; how her daddy led a congregation and she’d practically grown up inside the church, how she used to play piano and guitar and sing in the choir every Sunday morning, how she read to the sick and the elderly in her spare time and how her stomach used to swell up with pride and adoration every time she saw her mother stand beside her father as she praised the Lord and beamed with hope and gratitude for the family she’d been blessed with.

She wonders what he’d say if he knew he had a higher shot of being redeemed because deep down in his heart he couldn’t shake off his faith the way she’d let hers evaporate.    

It’d be almost comical if it wasn’t so devastatingly heartbreaking.

…

Seth’s phone rings at a quarter before ten.

He disappears for almost an hour.

To be honest, it’d been a welcomed change. His surly mood was a bit too much on top of all the thoughts swirling inside her head tonight (understatement of the year, Katie-Cakes), and the way he was staring at her made her feel like she was up on the auction block, being clinically examined and found lacking. He keeps making snide comments about the other customers and glaring at the back of Richie’s head when he thinks nobody’s looking; checking his phone every couple of seconds and slamming his glass down on the counter before ordering another bottle.

His anger had turned on Kate when she told him she was cutting him off for the night and he’d stared at her like she was a traitor who was bringing him a great harm instead of a favor. He’d stood up and was about to storm out when his phone rang and then he’d left without giving her a second glance and leaving her more confused than ever.  

She doesn’t know what he wants from her, much less what she wants from him. For all intents and purposes, she should have never done more than serve his drinks and kick him out after closing time or during one of his routine fights. She should have let Charlie ban him after breaking the doorman’s nose that first night or when Richie cut one of the girl’s hands during a drunken knife throwing contest.

Seth and Richie should have been just another pair of faces in an endless crowd.

But he’s not; _they’re_ not. 

And when he comes in again later, looking like he’s just been dragged through hell, her heart speeds up and her breath comes short and she almost drops the bottle she was stocking back onto the shelf.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” she demands, gaping at his busted lip and the cut that was bleeding down his forehead. His clothes are dirty and his jacket’s torn and he’d got an armed wrapped around his torso like a crutch that keeps his whole being together.

“In your honor, Princess,” he grins back, signaling for her to fill him another shot. Instead, she walks around the bar, stopping beside him and grabbing onto his arm as she pulls him towards her and leads him to the little storage room where they keep their First-Aid kit. She doesn’t miss the warning look that Charlie sends her, or Richie’s raised eyebrows as he catches sight of them disappearing behind the door, or the smirks from a handful of girls who shake their hips in encouragement at her.

(Thank God  Santanico is still backstage; Kate doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if she thought she was trying to sneak around with Seth.)

What was it that Scott used to say when she was being dramatic?

_Pull yourself together or you’ll wash out like the rest._

Besides, it’s not like she has something to feel guilty about. She’s not doing anything wrong and Seth, in his own twisted and sociopathic way, has shown her that he cares for her. She can’t leave him bleeding and hurt when it’d be so easy for her to help him clean up his wound and avoid the infection his ego and pride would be quite willing to suffer through. (Jesus, what is it with men and their inability to ask someone for a helping hand?)

So she sits him down on an old plastic chair and she does her best to avoid looking at him as she takes out a cotton swab and dips it in peroxide, wiping away the grime that bubbles under her touch and covering the cut with a thin line of Neosporin just the way her mother used to do for her whenever she got scraped knees or a blister on her hands.

“What happened?” she asks again, focusing on putting everything back into its place and still refusing to really look at him because how in the world is it okay for someone to take up so much space with their mere presence? They’re in here and for once in his life he’s not making any smartass comments and it makes her feel likes she’s suffocating and this is not normal or stable and this is fucking _dangerous_.

“You know, my Uncle Eddie used to say that you’re never in a fight with just one asshole,” he answers, grunting in pain when he tries to sit up and waiting for her to look at him. There’s a shift in his voice, like something has finally fallen into place and it demands her attention and grips onto her throat like an invisible vise that has its thumb pressed against her pulse.  

She does, and the longing in his face makes her want to either run away or pull him into an embrace. “Why’s that?”

Seth smiles again, sardonic as usual, and the longing is gone and his anger is back and Kate feels like she can breathe again for the first time all night. “Because even assholes have friends.”

…

Santanico takes the stage just after midnight.

…

Every instinct she has tells her that she should find it demeaning.

She’d grown up in a God-fearing town where everyone knew who she was going to be before she’d even been born. She was Pastor Jacob’s little girl and there were expectations that needed to be met and responsibilities to be handed out in a silver platter. She was the standard that mother’s measured their daughters against: the straight-A student that teachers loved who volunteered after school and dated the nice boy in the football team, the girl who never forgot to mind her manner and say _yes, sir_ and _thank you, ma’am_ and would never be caught dead doing anything that could embarrass her family.

Like, you know, running away to Mexico and working at a stripper bar.  

(The ladies from Thursday Night Bingo would probably have a stroke if only they saw her now.)

But, the thing is, Santanico doesn’t _have_ to dance.

There’s a long and gritty story behind it, but it basically sums up to Santanico staying in charge of the business that her father set up when she was only a little girl. It’s a story about a man who was betrayed and used as an scapegoat for his superiors and a girl who had to grow up fast and quick and take over because a powerful man had become fascinated with her. It’s a story about bad men doing cruel things to an innocent girl simply because they _could_ , and that same girl taking back control with a bright mind and an iron fist.

It’s a story about a place that’s somehow become their home, even if they can’t admit it to themselves.

This place that is almost like its own land; outside of the jurisdiction of every law that governed men and belonging to those who are lost and don’t want to be found. It runs on its own and rules don’t apply and the only things that count is money and reputations and loyalty among thieves. No cop would ever step foot in here and no criminal would cross the line and it’s rowdy and dirty and wrong but it’s also _theirs_ and that’s something that no one can take away. They all have their place and their purpose for being here and they don’t leave until they figure it out.

And, above everything and everyone else, stands Santanico.

(In here she’s the fucking _Queen_ , in case you didn’t know.)

Santanico dances solely because she _wants_ to.

There’s something that borders on ethereal about watching her move.

She’s up on stage and there’s a huge Albino Ball Python (who they affectionately refer to as Linda) that weighs more than an average man can carry (shout-out to those early-morning gym workouts) draped across her shoulders as she moves her hips to the enchanting sound of acoustic drums and a violin. She’s barefoot and nearly naked and she’s very likely every man’s fantasy brought to life. They stare at her like she’s a revelation and salivate without her even having to glance their way: each and every one of them ready to lay down their lives and worship at her feet.

If this place was truly paradise, she would be their goddess.

Santanico knows it; _everybody_ knows it. 

So they could all look at her and beg for her but they would never have her. They could all promise her riches and happiness in their half-demented declaration of eternal adoration and she would never even flinch at them. They could live out the rest of their lives in constant admiration and with a gaping hole in their souls that could not be filled with anything but her reciprocation and it would do nothing but bring her satisfaction.     

She is powerful and beautiful and a force to be reckoned with that demands the utmost respect. She can take all their hopes and dreams into the palm of her hand and breathe life into them just as easily as she can close her fist and crush them underneath her delicate and manicured fingertips. She demands and they obey. She is elegance wrapped up in silk and polished with pearls and diamonds.

She is the freedom Kate’s heart aches for.

(So why do her eyes look so empty at the end of the day?)

…

It only takes a moment.

It’s one of those _blink and you’ll miss it_ situations.

Tani is dancing on stage, then moving onto the tables, until she stops on top of the one where Richie is sitting. He looks up at her, as transfixed as every other person is and has ever been, but when she looks down at him and finds his too-knowing eyes clear of lust and staring at her in that way that chills your bones and makes you feel like you’re out of place, something inside of her breaks and she wavers for just a second before picking up her act again.

And that’s the beginning of the end.

…

She doesn’t see the brothers again for over two weeks.

Kate wishes it didn’t make her feel so sick to her stomach.

The thing is (and she will deny it with her dying breath because there’s this beautiful thing called Plausible Deniability), despite her better judgement and utter opposition, she’s somehow managed to accept that she’d gone ahead and catch actual _feelings_ for the Geckos. They’re not romantic, (God, just no), but they’re there and they’re _real_ and the logical part of her brain doesn’t seem to understand that getting attached to them in any capacity is an absolutely horrible idea.

Seth and Richie, they’re like… they’re like the kitten she rescued when she was fifteen and desperate to have something to love that was just hers.

It’s the same need that had her carrying the poor thing home despite his injured paw and the bleeding scabs on the tips of his ears and the ridiculous amount of fleas that had her entire family itching for a week. It’s what had her spending all her saved up allowances on his veterinary bills and on his medicine and treatments and food because her momma made it explicitly clear that if she kept him, he would be her responsibility.

How could she, when Thomas (her and Scott were big fans of Tom & Jerry, okay?) had healed into a gorgeous cat who waited for her to get back from school every day and curled up around her in utter devotion? When she would get home and he would purr and his big green eyes would trick her into playing with him instead of focusing on her biology assignments? When he would scratch Kyle whenever he got too close because he was jealous of momentarily not being the center of her world?

Until one day she got home and he was gone and she never saw him again despite spending hours searching for him in the middle of the winter cold and wearing her throat sore from all her yelling and having her eyes swollen from her incessant crying.  

Kate thinks that the Geckos are kind of like that; strays that worm their way into your heart when you’re not looking and leave as quickly as they came.  

But she knew that they’d be back.

They had to be, because ever since they left she’d caught Carlos talking with _El Gringo_ on the phone and giving him exasperated directions. She’d seen him storm in and out of the bar and yell orders at all the girls and the rest of the staff like he owned them. She’d seen him barking out orders to Scott and seen her brother running all over the place to try and keep his pacified. Kate had even seen Carlos clench his teeth and bow his head when Santanico had to step in and tell him to stop being such an asshole and start thinking straight before he ruined _everything_.  

Whatever it is that they’re planning, it’s big and it’s dangerous and it’s intimidating enough to have them all tense and stomping on eggshells and the only four people she’s still allowing her heart to care for are all right smack in the middle of it.

Still, Kate tries to lie to herself about it; tries to convince her brain that Santanico is too smart and her brother too careful and the Gecko brothers too good at surviving (because common sense is obviously not their forte) to be involved in anything that could potentially lead them all to an early grave and leave her an orphan again. It works, to a certain extent, especially because she’s become quite excellent at blocking out the things that bring her pain.

As long as they stick together, everything is going to be okay.

When she finally catches sight of Seth stepping back in through those ridiculous doors in his usual bible-salesman suit and without a single new scratch on his face she feels all the anxiety that had built up inside her start to slowly melt away because they’re here and they’re safe and even if she never sees them again at least she’ll know that they’re out somewhere in the world causing trouble but alive and thriving.

Of course, that all goes out the window two seconds later when Narciso steps in, laying a hand on Seth’s shoulder like they’re old friends and leading him to his table up in the Restricted area.

Kate’s been around long enough to know that this can only end bloody.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. When I started writing this story I forgot to factor in that midterms could potentially put a big damper in my writing time.   
> Anyways, thanks for all your comments and kudos and I hope you guys liked it.   
> Next chapter has things getting more complicated and Kate seriously contemplating moving to the Bahamas.


	3. where have all those days gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Oceans & Streams" by The Black Keys.

“I need to know what’s going on.”

Santanico opens her mouth, and Kate can see the lie perfectly crafted in her brilliant mind being poised and readied to fall from the tip of her tongue.

“No,” she interrupts her immediate, cutting off whatever soothing words were about to be thrown her way and catching Tani completely off guard for the first time since they met inside that beaten down grocery store all that time ago. “No more lies, Tani. Don’t tell me something to shut me up. I know that something bad is happening and I need to be ready for it. Just, tell me the truth.”

She pauses, examining her with new eyes. “The truth is very complicated, Kate. You know that the life we live is not a pretty one.”

“I know,” the younger girl agrees, blinking her eyes and taking a deep breath to pull on the strength her momma had ingrained into her since she was old enough to walk and the courage her daddy had burned into her heart. “And I am so thankful to you for how hard you’ve tried to keep me separate from it, but I’m not a little girl anymore. I’ve grown up, and a lot of that is thanks to you. But now I need you to trust me with this because you are my family, and the only way we’re going to get through this is if we stick together, because we’re stronger together.”

Tani’s stance wavers, and she can see the bright gleam of tears beginning to fill her dark eyes and the slight tremble to her bottom lip. “I’ve done a lot of bad things; made choices that haunt me and that I have to live with, but it has always been the best I can do to protect myself and the people around me. You need to know and understand that.”

“I know that; I’ve _always_ known that.”

“Then you know that there are people I have to answer to; people who have felt like they have own me my entire life; who look at me as nothing more than a showgirl and a sick and twisted living trophy.”

“Narciso,” Kate whispers, thinking back to the cruel man and shivering at the memory of Seth chatting and laughing with him at the bar last night. Thinks about how even Carlos is afraid of him and will bite his tongue and bend to his will, and how Scott is too scared to stand in the same room as him. Thinks about how Tani makes sure it’s always Kate’s night off whenever they find out that he’s coming into town.

“Yes, and no,” she answers, wiping the back of her palm across her eyes and throwing her shoulders back to regain her trademark poise and control. “The man who is in charge of everything is Amancio Malvado and Narciso is his watchdog, who he sends here to check up on us and to collect all the money that we make. I have been his prisoner for too long.”

Maybe it’s the resentment in Santanico’s voice, or the anger in her eyes, or how the fear that has always been hiding in them seems to have disappeared, but everything clicks and suddenly Kate doesn’t know how or when but one truth does stand out.

“You’re going to make a stand.”

“Not just that, Katie,” Santanico smiles, pulling her hand into her palms and giving them a reassuring pat. “I’m doing so much more than that.”

“I’m taking all our freedoms back.”

 …

Kate used to dream about the ocean.

She used to stay up late thinking about sunlit beaches with crystal-blue water and sand so soft and fine that it clung to her legs and feet and became one with the cool breeze. She used to spend her summers daydreaming about the stories her momma would tell her of childhoods spent collecting seashells during the day and lighting bonfires at night when she was a little girl living in Northern California. She’d begged her daddy for years to take them there, back to her momma’s hometown, but they’d both refused with a gentle _it’s not the time, Katie-Cakes_ and a firm shake of their heads.

Hear something often enough and you start to believe it.

So she did, and she stopped, and once her parents started sending her and Scott to a real school instead of homeschooling them she’d made new friends and met Kyle and dreams of sunny skies and blue waves took a backseat to trips to the mall and Friday-night dates at Marie’s Diner and the arcade. She’d started planning her entire life around Bethel and Sunday Mass and a possible future with a boy who would text her passages from the Bible.

For a while, all she’d wanted was a nice and quiet life.

And she’d had it; filled with summer picnics with her family and daily roses from the flower shop Kyle’s mom owned and school vacations spent building homes for people in need with Habitat for Humanity. She’d had the very best friends any girl could ask for and was a shoe-in for Homecoming Queen. She’d been well on her way to having a perfect and beautiful life.

She’d had everything.

Funny, how quickly and easily she’d lost it.

….

She thinks about vacationing in the Bahamas.

Kate can clearly picture herself sprawled out on a towel underneath a huge yellow umbrella, sipping water from a coconut and wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses she could find. She thinks about those sunny dreams she used to have when she was a little girl and her biggest worries revolved around not staining her dress with grape juice and whether her momma would weave actual roses into her hair the next time she got to be a flower girl. She thinks about spending nights out under the stars and days inside a little café with excellent cappuccinos and chocolate croissants that left the sweet taste of butter and sugar melting in her mouth for hours on end.

She thinks about being a normal girl with a normal job and a normal life.

…

The thing is, she’s _not_ a normal girl.

She’s exactly one week away from turning twenty, and instead of spending her day out with her girlfriends getting sugar-high on ice cream and milkshakes, she’ll more than likely be serving creepy men enough booze to drown an elephant. Instead of chocolate and coffee, her hair and her clothes will smell like dried sweat and stale beer and she’ll have to decide whether to have her birthday cake for breakfast or lunch. Instead of spending the day with her family and getting rose bouquets and eating her mother’s legendary Strawberry Cake, she’ll be getting hit on by pervs and sang Happy Birthday to by a group of lovely girls who happen to not wear a lot of clothes.

And she’s okay with that.

She is, because this is her life now. She’s not angry about it anymore. This is her life and it’s a good one, with even better people in it. She’s got Santanico who goes out of her way every year to make her birthday memorable. She has her brother, who will always remember to put his anger away (at least for that one day) and will spend the entire time hanging out with her at the bar. She has the girls, who treat her like a little sister and bring her little gifts in hopes of brightening up her day. Hell, she even has Carlos, whose idea of a perfect gift is an envelope filled with enough cash to buy two or three cars.

So, no; she’s not angry about that.

What she’s furious about, what has been keeping her up at night and clawing at her skin with the worst case of anxiety she’s ever had, is that those same very people who somehow manage to make everything that’s terrible and wrong and heartbreaking in her life feel alright, who give her a reason to smile and who make her thankful for being alive and who she loves with every ounce of her broken heart, could be so undeniably _stupid_.

(And they’re all doing it at the same time.)

Because Kate knows what they’re doing now; had sat across from the woman she owed her life to in the kitchen they shared and listened as she went over the ins and outs of her plan to break free of the hold they were all in. Now she knew that they all had a role to play; her and Scott and even the Geckos. Now she knows just how much of a risk they were all taking and now she was willing to do anything to help them make sure they all got out alive.

Now she knows that it’s only her tiny, make-shift family starting a war entwined with lies and false pretenses and deceit against an entire organization that has more power and reach than any of them can begin to fathom.  

Has she mentioned how unbelievably stupid they are?

…

“My, my, you look a little young to be in here.”

Kate looks up at the man standing in front of her, wearing way too much leather in a useless attempt to look younger and tough, allowing her trademark scowl to take over he face in hopes of him taking the hint and leaving her the hell alone.

Apparently, everyone got the memo that it’s Asshole Night at the Twister.

“Really?” she glares, wishing Charlie hadn’t decided to take tonight off and that his replacements were at least a little bit competent in their job instead of spending all their time making eyes and ogling the dancers.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” he asks, apparently blind to the fact that she’s standing behind the bar and that there’s a little apron tied around her waist. Or that, you know, she’d been serving other clients their shots of tequila and handing out beer bottles. “This ain’t no place for girls like you to frequent.”

“Look, if you’re gonna order something to drink do it now and then go sit down or I will have you kicked out,” she speaks out, hating the way his leer kept dropping to her chest and how he would lick his lips and bite his cheek. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Okay, I get it,” he sighs, somehow finding the arrogance to wink at her despite her obvious loathing of him. “But if anyone tries to mess with you while I’m not here, you just let them know that you’re with Sex Machine.”

“Subtle,” another familiar voice cuts in, stopping the smartass remark Kate was about to release seconds before it could leave her lips.

But then something happens, and all that she knows is that a hand is being wrapped around the back of her neck and chapped lips are being pressed against hers in a closed-mouth kiss and Kate’s barely had enough time to shut her eyes before his warmth is leaning back and away and what in the heck just happened?

“This guy bothering you, Princess?” Seth asks, deliberately crossing his arms to make the muscles in them bulk out and puffing out his chest until he stands at his full height. He’s intimidating and he knows it, and that’s without even having to flash the gun she knows is permanently stitched to his side.

“He was just leaving,” Kate manages to reply, somehow keeping her voice even and calm despite how frazzled his little possessive display had left her. She felt out of breath and unstable and electric and if she was embers he’d be the wind that taunted her and caused their ultimate destruction.

Jesus Christ, she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush instead of the grown woman she’d been fighting so hard to get everyone to see her as.       

Snap out of it, Katie-Cakes.

Okay.

She can deal with this.

She is a mature adult and it’s not like she’s never been kissed before and she can handle this.

(She is such a fucking liar.)

“What the hell was that for?” she hisses the moment Creep Machine walks away, slapping her hand against Seth’s shoulder and glaring at him with the same intensity her momma used to use on them whenever she caught them trying to sneak extra cookies before dinner.

“Oww,” he complains, even though she knows there’s no way she actually hurt him. “A guy tries to do something nice for you and this is the thanks he gets.”

“Why did you kiss me?” she demands, clenching her fists and counting to ten and wow, all these relaxation exercises are really fucking useless, aren’t they?

“Sweetheart, that barely constituted a peck,” he scoffs, and the same arrogant and self-assured grin that makes her want to shoot him half the time falls back into place. “The day I kiss you, you’re not gonna have any doubts about it.”

She hates how long it takes her to come up with a decent response. “You’re so full of yourself, you know that?”

His grin turns into a smile, and he clicks his tongue before taking a seat and reaching across the counter for a bottle. “You told me not to pick another fight,” he reminds her, throwing back her warning from a few nights ago and her heart beats just a little bit faster. “Assholes like these only understand two types of languages.”

“So, what? You’re planning on being my hero forever? Scaring off all the pervs who try to hit on me and fighting the assholes who won’t quit just because you called dibs on me?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

She knows it the second it’s out in the open because his smile fades and the lightness that’d been playing across his face has been replaced with that silent loathing that she’s so used to seeing instead. He takes a drink from the bottle, but it’s easy to tell he’s not out to get drunk tonight. He’s too tired and too weary and now all the anxiety that’d been momentarily silenced rushes back in and she remembers why she’d been so impatiently waiting for him.

“Ain’t nobody’s Knight in Shining Armor, Princess.”

She doesn’t miss the double meaning in his words.

( _I’m not here to save you_.)

 Oh, she knows.

“We need to talk.”

Seth smirks again, but there’s no humor in it. “Are you breaking up with me? I promise I can change.”

“Oh my God,” Kate groans, balling up a napkin and throwing it at his face. “Just follow me.”

…

“Tell me, is this the first time you’ve snuck a man into your room?”

He’s sitting down in her bed, leaning back against the mountain of pillows she likes to sleep on as he flicks open the copy of The Bell Jar she’d left on her nightstand and this is quickly turning out to be the worst idea she’s had in a very long time. He’s got her half-expecting for her daddy to barge into her room demanding an explanation.

It hadn’t been safe risking this discussion at the bar, and she knows that Carlos has the whole place wired from top to bottom. She couldn’t just have Seth drive them somewhere else because it would call too much attention to have her suddenly start leaving with a customer and Santanico made it explicitly clear that she was to remain as innocuous and discrete as ever. So she’d snuck him out the back doors and led him into her home, and into her room, and why, yes; age _does_ make you dumber.  

“You’re intolerable,” she sighs, snatching the book out of his hands and shoving it into one her dresser’s drawers.  “Remind me again why I’m putting so much effort into making sure you and Richie don’t turn up face-down in a river somewhere?”

There. That should get his attention.

Seth stiffens, narrows his eyes and angles his head in an open expression of hostility. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Santanico told me what you’re doing; about the bank you’re going to rob and about El Rey for you and Richie.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses her, and it stings much more than it should to see his denial, so similar to her father’s after her momma’s accident, being directed her way all over again.

“You can’t trust Narciso,” she rushes out, forcing the words out of her mouth before her pride and anger try to keep them locked inside and dammit it all, this is not the time to cry. “Carlos might be a bad man but he keeps his word in business. He’ll follow through in whatever deal you made, but Narciso never will. Anybody who ever gets involved with him is never heard of again. Just, don’t let him trick you and don’t believe anything he promises.”

He looks around the room, from the pictures in her vanity to the bookshelf in the corner and her perfectly organized closet before landing back on her. He’s quiet and thoughtful and it makes all the nerves in her body stand on edge.

Finally, he asks her, “What do you want from me?”

(She doesn’t miss the double-meaning in those words, either.)

But it’s not safe to answer them, so much less now than when he’d first walked into her life. There’s no easy solution or happy ending waiting for any of them, and the last thing she wants to do is sit down and examine her feelings for him out in the open.

It’s too much and it’s too soon and it makes her feel raw and terrified.

“I want you to be careful,” she whispers, summoning her courage and stepping forwards until she’s standing right in front of him and her hand lifts up to cup his cheek, scruff scratching against her palm and feeling perfect against her softer skin. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes and accepting the small token of comfort she couldn’t deny him or herself. “I need you to stay safe.”

This is their moment, and Kate already knows they’re not going to take it.

“I promise, Princess,” he vows. “No bumps or scrapes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 2 more chapters left in this story!  
> Huge thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave kudos and comments so far! I love reading what you all think about it and looking out for suggestions.  
> Working on something that's a mix between character study, rambles, and season 2 predictions for a massive one-shot. SethKate centered, of course. That should be up pretty soon.


	4. a dark world aches for a splash of the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Cough Syrup by Young The Giant.

“Promise me you will look after yourself.”

Kate sighs, brushing away wayward strands of hair from her face and doing her best to appear annoyed instead of terrified. They’re less than half a day away from Judgement Time and the older brunette has spent her every waking moment reminding her to be careful and of the danger they were all facing. If she’s being completely honest, Kate hasn’t even managed to stop her fingers from shaking uncontrollably since she woke up this morning. “I already told you I would, Tani.”

Santanico, fearless and poise as ever, sitting on her favorite leather sofa and crossing her arms underneath her chest, does not appear convinced.

“Yes,” she scoffs, narrowing her eyes in undeniable scrutiny and making the younger girl feel like she’d just been caught sneaking out to a party after curfew. “Just like you told me you would stop getting involved with los Geckos.”

Kate cringes, remembering every warning she’s been given about the brothers and how she’d managed to ignore or justify every single one of them. She’s well aware that her wisest move would’ve been to just avoid them in the first place, but somehow they’d both managed to crawl under her skin and all she’d wanted was to prove that they were good people. Damaged and tainted, maybe, but _good_ nonetheless.

How is one supposed to measure the honor in a conman’s word?

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out one of them was in your room?” she questions, arching an eyebrow at her blanched expression, and, really, Santanico Pandemonium has the whole ‘mothering’ thing down to an art-form. Kate thinks that maybe, if she’s really lucky, the world will open up a hole in the ground and swallow her whole.

“Seth was getting involved with Narciso,” she defends herself, nervously flexing her fingers and trying her best to explain the situation and downplay how that’d only been an actual factor in the past week. “I couldn’t let him walk into that trap without at least trying to warn him. You know Narciso would get them killed in a heartbeat.”

“You care about them.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

“En otras palabras,” she emphasizes, leaning forwards until her elbows are resting on her knees. “You care for them.”

Kate pauses, considers denying it once again and how little that’s actually done to help her get rid of her worries or grant her any peace, then shrugs it off and concedes with the truth. She will not feel guilty for believing that there’s still something good left inside the brothers; something worth saving.

And maybe, if the universe is kind and luck is on her side, she can inflict enough conviction in her voice to convince the rest of the world of as much. “I do.”

It’s Santanico’s turn to pause now, and the look she gives her is so foreign to the beautiful woman’s face, so _vulnerable_ and _heartbroken_ , that Kate feels her heart clench and her palms begin to sweat. She feels exposed; like Tani can look at her and see every secret she’s locked away inside her heart and she’s left reeling from it. Kate feels her eyes begin to water, and purses her lips to stop the ill-timed apology that’s sitting on the tip of her tongue from spilling out and ruining everything.

“You are in love with him.”

And, really, there’s no need to clarify who the ‘ _him’_ is referring to.

It’s not an accusation, but rather, an acknowledgement: a _fact_ that’s come into fruition and there’s nothing left to do aside from dealing with it and hoping to survive the aftermath. There’s no disappointment in Santanico’s voice, but there is _pity_ , and Kate doesn’t know which is worst.

“I don’t know,” she answers, and that feels like such a blatant lie that this time she doesn’t bother stopping the tears that track down her cheeks.

She feels like a child again; confused and scared and too young to deal with the world that’s clawing away at her feet.  

Because she _does_ know; knew it from the first time she’d caught herself waiting for him to show up at the bar at night and the feeling of joy that would overcome her the moment he walked in. Knew it since the day she’d caught herself smiling and blushing and feeling fucking _flattered_ instead of annoyed at his stupid jokes and possessive personality. Knew it when he and his brother were gone for those two weeks and she’d barely managed to eat or sleep because she’d been too worried that she’d overhear Carlos telling someone how they’d died or been killed.

She had definitely known it when he’d been in her bedroom, looking as lost and confused as she felt, leaning into her embrace and promising her he’d be safe.     

“I don’t want to be,” she adds, and that’s a truth she’s willing to admit.

“El corazon escoje por nosotros,” Santanico murmurs, reaching up for her arm and pulling her down to sit beside her. Kate goes willingly, desperate for the advice and comfort that only experience could grant and that Tani seemed to have in spades. She leans down, resting her head on the other girl’s shoulder and entwining their fingers together. “Good or bad, it does not matter. Our only choice is whether we listen to it or not.”  

“It’s really all very pointless,” Kate whispers, voice hoarse and low as a few more of those damned tears escape out of the corner of her eyes. “I know that after tonight the possibilities of me seeing either of them again are basically non-existent. Seth and Richie will go one way and we’ll go another and all this will just be a memory.”

Let it be noted, for the record, that she is not proud of how pathetic her mixture between a whine and a sob sounds. “I don’t even really know if he likes me that way.”

“Querida,” Santanico scoffs in silent disbelief, brushing away the stray tears from her own eyes with the tips of her fingers before forcing Kate to face her once again. “Believe me when I tell you that man is more than just interested in you.”

“He probably thinks I’m just a schoolgirl with a crush.”

Tani only stares at her, scrunching her brows in concentration as she considers the best way for her young ward to understand her. It’s not easy, dealing with matters of the heart, and she will be the first to admit that not every great love affair is destined to live out for eternity.

Finally, she asks: “Do you know the difference between you and me?”

Okay, she thinks, so maybe Santanico isn’t the best at comforting. Kate has never considered herself vain, but she knows that she’s decent enough to look at. Pretty, in an average kind of way; nothing in comparison to the exotic and universal beauty the older girl could rightfully claim. She’s quiet and formal where Santanico is bold and mysterious; the introvert to her extrovert. She’s the kind of women who demanded attention without having to lift a finger for it.

The kind of woman that men like Seth and Richie and Carlos all fell in love with.

“That you’re gorgeous and brave and ambitious and I’m just, well, _me_?”

“Katie,” she sighs, whispering her name like a prayer to a lost God. “All those things, they do not matter in the end. You are so much more than you let yourself believe.”

“But I’ve seen how people act around you; how the treat you like you’re a queen,” Kate argues back, not envious or malignant, but a simple observation. She doesn’t wish for those things, never has and sincerely doesn’t think she ever will, but it doesn’t mean that she’s blind to the adoration that surrounds her dearest friend and confidant. “People would do anything just to be with you.”

“People do things for me because I _ask_ for them,” she agrees, and Kate has never seen her look so hurt and open and _angry_ , and it’s enough to have them both in tears again. “They do what I say because to them I am a fantasy; people worship me, but they do not _love_ me. Everything that I get comes with a price tag attached.”

“You, mi niña, are so very _loved_ , and you don’t even know it,” she adds, lifting a hand to caress her pale cheek and brush away her tears. “People would do anything to keep you happy and safe and you will never have to ask someone for a thing because they will offer it and expect nothing in return. That is what makes us different.”

“I love you, Tani,” Kate reminds her, wrapping the arms around the brunette and holding her close. She thinks that maybe, if she’s really quiet, she can hear both their hearts breaking. “You know that I will never leave you alone.”

“I love you, too,” Santanico murmurs into her hair, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling back and preparing herself to deliver her last bit of advice. “Which is why I need you to promise me that if anything goes wrong you will get out and run as fast and far as you can.”

“What are you-”

“No,” she interrupts. “If you cannot find me, or if anything happens to me, run away. Do not stay here. Do not look for me or for Scott; your brother will have to make his choice and you have to let him live with the consequences. Go with Seth and Richie if you can; they will keep you safe. Or go on your own if you want; I know you are strong enough to survive.”

Kate is left dumbfounded, barely managing to stutter out a small plea. “Don’t say that; everything’s going to be okay.”

“Maybe,” Santanico concedes, and Kate really wishes her words didn’t sound so empty and hopeless. That’s the problem with being a realist; there’s very little optimism left to enjoy when everything has an explanation and the facts tend to favor misfortune. “But you need to be ready for anything. I do not know how long I will able to protect you, so you have to look after yourself.”

“I promise,” Kate forces the words out of her mouth, hating the weight they drop on her shoulders. She feels like a traitor at the thought of ever having to fulfill her vow, but she knows that if she was ever to break her word Santanico would never forgive her.

Which of the two evils is greater could still be debated.

…

 “Do I even want to know where you got that at two in the morning?”

Richie grins, taking another sip of his horchata before signaling for Kate to do the same.

“A taco stand, about five miles up the road,” he shrugs, nonchalant and immaculate in his black suit as always, sitting down on a stool instead of his usual center table. Kate would feel a bit better if it wasn’t so easy for her to see the extra gun tucked into his waistband, or, you know, the weight of her own pressings against her hip. “You should drink yours before it gets hot.”

Kate groans in frustration but does as she’s told, taking a moment to look around the bar.

To the average observer, everything is business as usual.

For Kate, who’s been privy to the preparations that have been put in place for the past week, things could not feel more out of place.

She knows, for example, that all the girls have been asked to be on high alert and given a signal to follow. The moment things get serious, they’ve all been instructed to sneak out of the bar as quickly and efficiently as they can manage. This will be their last night ever stepping foot into this place.

She knows that Razor Charlie is carrying two semi-automatics underneath his vest and enough ammunition in his pockets to satisfy a small army, just as much as she knows that he’s been charged with ensuring Kate gets out of the bar alive and in one piece. Say what you want about the man, but he has a heart of gold and a protective streak a mile wide for all ‘his girls’.

She knows that Carlos and Santanico have guns hidden underneath tables and behind the bar, all deadly and loaded, and that the dinner room where Narciso is being taken is basically a death trap. She knows that there are cars with the keys loaded into the ignition waiting besides ever exit, ready to make a quick exit and that every last detail has been ironed out by them.

She knows that Scott is in charge of making sure the Twister is locked down the moment they get Narciso and the rest of his entourage to the lower levels, and that in some rare attempt at humanity, Carlos has ensured that her brother is the one who faces the least danger.  

The only thing she _doesn’t_ know is where the hell Seth is.

Richie, bless his questionable soul, is not being helpful at all.

He’d shown up about twenty minutes ago, offering her a drink but no explanation of his brother’s whereabouts. It was so strange, seeing the brothers separate, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach only grew more overwhelming as the minutes flowed by.

“Where’s Seth?” she questions him again, hoping against hope that the allegedly wiser brother would regain either his senses or his pity and put her out of her misery. “I just want to know that he’s okay.”

Jesus Christ, Katie-Cakes, could you be any more obvious?”

“This whole place is set and wired to go hell with one wrong move, and you’re more worried about my brother.”

It’s not a question.

Kate’s eyes widen, and he clicks his tongue at her red-handed expression and the flush that spreads across her cheeks, offering a non-apologetic “I pick up on things” at her bafflement.

“If that’s true,” she presses, pushing aside her drink and her pride, stepping forwards until her right hand can land on top of his. She needs answers, and right now the only one who can give them to her is pretending to be as aloof as the most naïve child she’s ever met. Richie’s stare fixates on her, and Kate has to swallow down the lump in her throat before trying once again. “Then you understand why I need to know.”

He keeps looking at her, reading her expressions like an open textbook and making her want to shrink into herself. He’s intimidating and overwhelming, but he doesn’t _scare_ her. Richie is the kind of person who _sees_ things, and the only thing to really fear with him was having your shortcomings and aspirations dragged out to be examined under his watchful stare. The only person to disappoint was yourself.

“Seth’s moving the bonds,” he finally admits, rubbing his thumb in reassuring strokes across her knuckles. “He’ll be in here soon.”

Kate fights off the urge to cry in relief. “Why aren’t you with him?”

This time, Richie doesn’t hesitate.

“Because he asked me to watch over you.”

And, well, maybe there’s a lot more things she doesn’t know.

How to form a proper sentence, right about now, seems to be one of them.  

…

For a moment, an exquisitely crafted and breathtakingly beautiful moment, it’d looked like they were going to get away with it.

Seth and Richie managed to pull off their bank heist without incident, and although the police was likely going to catch on and set after them soon, they were safe for the next few hours. Plus, nobody in law enforcement dared to step foot in the Twister, so they’d be okay until they figured out where to go.

She’s not going to stop and think about the likelihood of never seeing them again.

Narciso arrived just before three in the morning and had lounged around for an hour before following Carlos to the lower levels. The girls had slowly began filtering out of the bar, flirtatiously leading their customers out with them.

The key was to keep everything appearing _normal_.

There were only a few people left, just a couple more minutes, and then they’d all be free to spread out and wait until Santanico and Carlos came back up so they could finally leave without a trace.

Seth was still nowhere to be seen.

Richie was sticking close to her, doing his best to appear undisturbed, but Kate could easily see the tension in his shoulders and the pressure he was exerting every time he flexed his wrist and tightened his hold on his odd knife.

She wasn’t the only one worried.

“Please go look for him,” Kate pleads, voice barely above a whisper as she stands in front of him again, asking him to break a promise as she broke her own. “I promise I’ll be fine.”

Richie’s barely had time to look up at her and consider her request when the man in question rushes through the door, slamming it shut behind him and shouting out orders for someone to lock them. His arm is heavily bleeding and his shirt’s been soaked through in blood from an obvious bullet, face is pale and quickly losing its remaining color.

The locks click into place half a second before the hail of gunfire begins.

 ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone.  
> The last few weeks have been a blur of exams and errands and training/prepping for work.  
> At last, Richie finally got his horchata.  
> Hope you all liked this update, as I felt that some major Kate/Santanico bonding time was necessary. Shout out to Lari for being the very best friend a girl could ask for (and also for reminding me that I have to update).  
> Next chapter is the finale, let me know what you think is going to happen!


	5. there's a humming in the restless summer air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lari, who is my soulmate and sticks with me through everything.   
> (Including my bullshit posting schedule.)

“It’s a good thing we were aiming for a low profile.”

Kate looks up from her task, pausing her nimble fingers only long enough to glare at Richie’s smartass commentary before returning her attention to the barely-competent stitching she’s trying to complete on Seth’s arm.

You know, the one he went ahead and got shot in.

(There’s only so much she can do with a tube of Neosporin, okay? Tequila as an antibiotic and the sewing kit she keeps underneath the bar for the girl’s occasional wardrobe malfunctions being dubbed ‘good enough’ to patch up a bleeding hole the size of her thumb was not something she’d ever wanted to experience.)

Maybe her hands would be a bit steadier if the ricochet of bullets bouncing off the Twister’s reinforced doors would cease for more than a few seconds at a time.

Maybe her heartbeat would slow down to a rational thrum if she couldn’t see Richie stalking every inch of the bar, collecting every weapon that’d been hidden and systematically building up a small arsenal and what looked suspiciously like a bomb (and _Jesus Christ_ , where the hell did these brothers pop up from?) while Scott led the few remaining girls and customers down into the lower levels and instructed them to hide. 

Or maybe, hypothetically, she’d feel a little more confident if she didn’t have Razor Charlie breathing down her neck as he examined her work.

“You need to pull them tighter,” he advices, reaching down to pull at an end and Kate winces at the loud and painful groan that crawls its way out of Seth’s throat. “Otherwise, Pretty Boy here will tear them out in a second.”

“Gee, thanks for your input, Doogie Howser,” Seth snaps, gritting his teeth before pulling the bottle of tequila up to his lips for another swig. It’s been all of eight minutes since he barged through those doors but he hasn’t stopped cursing and yelling and the irritation that’s creeping up her spine and tensing her shoulders has no greater manifestation than the resentment on her guardian’s face.

“Ten years,” Charlie mutters, clenching his fists and forming a scowl that manages to scare her, even though the man has a heart that’s equivalent of a Build-A-Bear (with them, at least). She doesn’t miss the way his fingertips ghost over the handle of the blade he keeps on him at all times (there’s a reason there’s a “Razor” before his name) and Kate can bet that he’s using every ounce of his self-control to avoid stabbing Seth in the neck.

Nobody’s perfect, ya know?

“Ten years I take care of my girls and use all my blood, sweat, and tears to make sure nothing happens to them,” he continues, voice loud and clear and so very _angry_ and it’s not the right sentiment for the moment and Kate know she should be more worried about Seth and Richie’s chances of survival but her heart _soars_ at Charlie’s words and the memory of Santanico’s and this is her family and they _love_ her and if she were to die tonight, she would do so with the knowledge that she _mattered_ to someone right to the very end.

(Not that she’s planning, in any way/shape/form, to go out without a fight.)

But back to the matter at hand:

“Ten years of protecting them and keeping them safe, and it all goes to Hell the moment you and your crazy brother show up.”

Kate opens her mouth, an entire speech sitting on the tip of her tongue and ready to defend the valor behind the brothers, but Seth beats her to the punch.

“I never asked for any of this shit, alright?”

Her mouth snaps right shut.

“It was supposed to be one job that got me and my brother fucking paradise,” he snaps, pulling his arm free and throwing his shoulders back until he can stare Charlie down. He doesn’t even notice when the needle she’d been holding pricks her finger, shredding through the smooth skin on its way out and causing the cherry-red blood to ooze down the digit and across her wrist.

Staining her skin. Mixing with his.

Bright and vivid where his is dark and dull.  

“Rob a fucking bank in the Middle of Nowhere, get a clean break. Easy. _Clockwork_ ,” Seth grinds out, and maybe it’s the shock or the anxiety or maybe it’s just the fact that she should have _known_ better than to expect much from a man who built an entire career around being a criminal, but she could swear that his voice carries the same hiss her daddy used to warn her about whenever they went camping ( _listen for the warning, Katie-Cakes; trouble always lies ahead)._ “Instead, Carlos and his little showgirl are about to get us killed and all we’ve got to keep us alive are Angel Eyes over there, Polly Pocket, and a Hell’s Angels’ reject. Excuse me if I don’t drop to my knees begging for forgiveness.”

Seth’s right: he really _is_ an asshole.

“You okay?”

It takes Kate a bit longer to realize the question is directed at her, and even more so that it’s not her brother’s or Charlie’s or another girl’s voice that’s speaking. Rather, it’s Richie, who’s somehow managed to slink his way from the bar over to her and is already grabbing for her hand, lifting her bleeding fingers to inspect the cut and gently leading her away.

Seth and Charlie haven’t even noticed, too engrossed in their battle of wits and testosterone and whatever else it is that dominates a man’s brain and need to establish their dominance and Kate will never understand.

“Your brother’s an asshole,” she breathes out, lifting her chin to meet Richie’s stare, openly defying her to contradict her analysis, and the grin that spreads across his lips is not in her imagination.

“Yeah,” he agrees, shrugging his shoulders and wrapping a clean napkin around her finger to stop the flow of blood. He squeezes then, causing a sharp stab of pain to shoot up her arm and the apologetic expression on his face at her discomfort is the most honest emotion she’s seen from him since the first moment they met. “It sort of runs in the family: Criminal, Charming, Asshole – welcome to the life of a Gecko.”

“You’re not very funny,” she sighs, doing her best to cover the small smile that’s threatening to shine through her anger. It doesn’t work, though, because this is _Richie_ , and he’s damn good at seeing the things you don’t want him to.

(Again, where the _heck_ did these brothers come from?)

His palm comes up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He leans forward just as she leans back, hesitant and breathless and confused at his sudden proximity, and now it’s his turn to smile. “You’re going to fit in just fine.”

He pulls back.

“I miss when things used to be simple,” she admits, slipping her hands away from his and resting them on her knees. It’s odd, really, because even though they’ve only had a handful of exchanges between them and this is not the Gecko her idiotic heart beats for, a part of her feels like Richie is the only other person who could really understand the thoughts that like to parade across her mind every time she drops her guard. “I miss when I used to feel _free_.”

Freedom.

And, really, that’s the core of it all, isn’t it?

The one common goal that joins them all together. What else besides that elusive dream could bring together a showgirl and two bank robbers and a preacher’s daughter so seamlessly?

They’re all running, in the end: Santanico from her captors and her past and every injustice that she’s committed or had to suffer ( _that was a cruel thing to do to an innocent girl_ ), the brothers from the life of crime they’ve loved and thrived in and the repercussions that are nipping at their heels and tearing at their sanity ( _sunlit beaches and blue agave_ ), her brother from all the anger and resentment that swallowed away his heart and left him as an empty shadow of the boy who’d held her hand and helped scare away the monsters in her closet ( _I was never good enough)._

And she, well, Kate’s growing increasingly suspicious that she’s running away from _everything_.

“We’ll set you free.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

She doesn’t know how to tell him that while a part of her longs for that: _aches_ for someone to wash away her pain and carry her off into the sunset - where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts and the memories of everyone she’s ever loved don’t feel like a punch to the gut when she’s already down –  a place where everything is _easy_ , a larger side of her, the part of her who got those keys from her Daddy’s cabinet and drove herself and her brother down to Mexico in search for peace and a new beginning, revolts and panics at the idea of _needing_ someone else to save her.

Be it a friend or lover or blood.

(She was raised better than that.)

In the end, all she can answer him is, “things are never that easy.”

“Things are as easy as we let them be.”

This time Kate really does grin. “I think we both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

Richie doesn’t bother to pretend like he doesn’t agree.

“You know, my brother really does care for you,” he reminds her, standing up from his stool and reaching for her hand again. He pulls her up to her feet and Kate almost pouts at the height difference because it’s hard enough to get people to take her seriously or look at her as more than just a little girl, and barely being able to reach Richie’s shoulders is not doing much for her confidence at the moment. “Psychotic tendencies aside.”

“Do those run in the family, too?”

“Patented and everything.”

“Hey, you two!” Seth’s voice cuts through, and the irritation she’d felt just a few minutes ago returns with a vengeance. You’d think that someone with such a gorgeous face would put a bit more effort into making sure people didn’t feel a perpetual need to hit it over (and over) again. “You done gossiping or should I wait a couple more hours before I try to get us out of here alive. Maybe invite those guys out there for a couple beers and reminisce about the good ol’ times we had while they were shooting at me.”

Yup. He’s really got to work on that.

Immediately.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kate snaps out, using her uninjured hand to flip back her hair and flashing the scowl Santanico taught her how to perfect. “Maybe I’ll just go out there and trade you for the rest of us. I’m pretty sure they’re more interested in you than they are on my Polly Pocket looks.”

The feeling that bursts through her chest is pure satisfaction at the visible cringe that shakes Seth’s body. He looks, _repentant_ , or at least as much as a person like him allows himself to feel. He opens his mouth, and for a second Kate thinks that he might actually find the courage to apologize, but then it snaps shut and his shoulders stiffen and she knows the moment is long gone.

“Sorry, Princess,” he shrugs, reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband and losing no time in reloading it, doing his absolute best to avoid her gaze. “Ain’t got time to worry about your delicate sensibilities right about now.”

“Wouldn’t dream about it.”

He doesn’t appreciate that, either.

“Okay, so here’s how it works,” he speaks up, looking at everyone around the room and flicking his wrists to motion them closer. “I make the plan, you execute the plan, we all get out of here alive to find a whole new different shit-storm somewhere down the road.”

“Richie and I are setting up the bomb by the door, when that blows up and they all come rushing in like little ants, we’re each running out different exits and meeting in the town twenty miles north from here. Nobody’s gonna be a hero tonight. You get a car and you get the hell out,” he pauses, finally looking at her again. “Kate, you’re with me. Richie’s taking your brother and Hulk Hogan over there knows how to take care of himself.”

Charlie huffs, but doesn’t argue.

“Okay, ramblers, let’s get ramblin’.”

It’s not a solid plan.

There is absolutely no guarantee that the bomb they’re building will even be strong enough to take down the door, and as far as plans go this one has so many variables and unknowns that it’s almost ridiculous for him to sound so sure of himself, but that’s not what’s bothering her. She’s used to things not panning out as expected, and Kate is confident that she can survive in all types of messed up situations, so long as she has her family with her. And right now, at this particular moment, one of the most integral parts of her family is locked into the lower levels of this goddamned bar with a dozen men who are liable to kill her if they so much as suspect her intentions before she gets the chance to pull off her own almost ridiculous plan.

“We need to wait for Tani.”

“No,” he replies immediately, staring at her as if she were an idiot, and if looks could kill Kate would be a puddle of goop staining the floor. “What we need to do is get the hell out of here.”

She bristles at the dominance in his voice. Say what you want, but she is not a child anymore and she will not live her life under someone else’s rule. She will not have her right to make her own _choice_ taken from her. “I’m not leaving without her.”

“She told us to get you out.”

“I don’t care what she told you,” Kate snaps, taking two steps back, fully intending to make her way down into the room she knew they’d be in and drag out Tani if necessary, “I’m not leaving without making sure she’s out, too.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re all batshit crazy,” Seth groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He rests his hands on top of a table, leaning over it for support before biting the side of his cheek and slamming his fist down in frustration.

“Fine. Let’s go find the little showgirl, but I swear to God that if I die in here I’m haunting your ass for the rest of your life.”

She wishes she could smile at her small victory instead of feeling like she’s holding onto a double-edged sword that’s bound to bleed her dry before the night is over.

He does as he promises; follows her downstairs and always makes sure to walk in front of her and he keeps his finger caressing the trigger of his gun at all times. He pulls her against him whenever they hear a suspicious noise and makes smartass comments about the bar’s decidedly antique anterior and when they’re a few feet away from the meeting hall where Santanico is, he orders her to stay put while he checks out the situation.

And then everything goes wrong.

Because then the shots start firing again and there’s so much noise and they’re so much closer and everything is so _loud_ and she could swear that she heard Santanico scream out in pain. She tries to run towards her; wants nothing more than to check on the girl who’s her family, but then Seth is back and he’s pulling her away and regardless of how much she fights him there’s no chance and no way he’d ever fail at physically overpowering her.

She barely even feels the explosion.

Kate can see Seth yelling directions at her; can clearly see his mouth moving and his worried eyes and she really wishes she could understand what he was going on about. Everything is a blank. The world stops making sense. She is Kate Fuller and she is nineteen and she just lost the people she loved for the second time and she’s not really sure she wants to keep breathing.

It’d be so much easier to just stand still and let the world keep spinning.  

Then they’re outside and she can see the lights from two cars driving off into the distance and just a flash of her brother’s face as Charlie takes him away.

She snaps out of it.

“Let’s go!” Seth shouts at her, and this time she doesn’t argue as she climbs into the sleek convertible he’s leading her to and slams the door shut seconds before he steps on the accelerator and all that’s left in the rearview mirror is a cloud of dust and smoke and destruction.

The world has never felt so toxic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a part 2 for this in the works.   
> Thanks to everyone for your awesome feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like it so far! I think I have maybe 2 or 3 more chapters for this.  
> Let me know if you're confused about anything and I'll try and clear it up.  
> I've also given a tumblr another shot and I'm imaginedfables on there if anyone is interested!


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